


stay a while, why hurry along? (can't go, murphy won't fit in the carry-on)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, baby bear murphy, mama bear clarke, ooc probably a little bit but it's FLUFF in the 100 give me a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke knows it's time to go back home, so what's stopping her?</p><p>It might have something to do with the drunken idiot passed out in her lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay a while, why hurry along? (can't go, murphy won't fit in the carry-on)

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the first two parts of this series first would absolutely benefit your weird platonic Clarphy fic experience, dear reader. Thank you a million, and enjoy. Or don't. I can't tell you what to do.

“Murphy!”

_“Hrnnhh?”_

Clarke bit back a laugh and dropped her tired head on the back of the couch as Murphy stirred awake, slowly but surely.

Apparently, ‘Mr. Nuclear’, had been a bit of a geek- regardless of good taste- and had the complete set of Avatar: The Last Airbender episodes on their respective CDs. The newest occupants of the lighthouse agreed to watching only comedies and children’s shows or movies, as they had seen enough drama, science-fiction, action and horror in their lives already. And watching romances might’ve been awkward, so that was avoided, too.

The two had fallen asleep with Clarke struggling to replicate Katara’s ‘loopy-thingies’ in her own hair, and Murphy, a bit tipsy, of course, passed out mid-speech about how the creators of the show could probably see the future and wrote about Murphy, through Zuko.

Now waking up with Murphy’s head on her thighs, brown hair splayed out wildly, came as a bit of a shock- and that’s where Clarke currently was, trying to gently nudge the sleeping boy off of her lap without shoving him off of the couch entirely. However when his arms looped around her legs and he curled up into a ball, she figured she could stay a bit longer, right? They had all of the time in the world.

So Clarke learned that it took a lot of alcohol to get Murphy drunk, and he was a cuddler. Surprise? Yes. Disappointment? Hardly. This would make for quite the story if they ever went home.

_If._

She’d feel guilty ever so often, living the life in a gorgeous bunker while her people at Camp Jaha were struggling with yet another problem, surely. Then Murphy would talk her down, tell her how he couldn’t go back, how he didn’t want her to leave him here alone like everyone always did, how they always put the weight on her shoulders and she deserved to have fun. Clarke would nod and go wash off the bad thoughts in a cold bath, and she’d return to something like Murphy trying to saw through a pool ball with a serrated kitchen knife- and she knew she had to stay a bit longer.

 _“Oh.”_ She heard, and was startled out of her thoughts by Murphy groggily lifting his head from her legs, a red blush rising to his cheeks from his scarred neck. She stifled a laugh as he used the end of his beige blanket to try and wipe the drool from the corner of his lips, and then her sweatpants.

“That’s really gross.”

“Bodily functions. People salivate.”

Clarke clicked the power button on the remote, and the blue TV screen went black. Murphy rubbed at his eyes, striking pools of emerald that Clarke itched to draw.

“Week five, and she _still_ can’t find the right buttons on the remote in under twenty seconds.”

 “You tried to paint me a picture with a tube of toothpaste.”

 Murphy scowled, throwing a leg over the back of the couch to go get some food. “ _This_ is the thanks I get for trying to do something nice.”

-

Late that afternoon, Clarke sat with her forehead against the cool rim of the railing at the top of the lighthouse, legs swinging as she enjoyed the view of the ocean.

She swatted at a falling tear as memories resurfaced, forever haunting her, lurking in her shadow, waiting for the chance to attack. They were nightmares during the day, the thoughts of her friends and family, those she had lost and left behind. The things she had seen, the things she had been through, sometimes they all became too much. Sometimes they became ghosts before her very eyes, as if she could feel them dying, she could feel herself walking away from them all over again.

Murphy had them sometimes too, but he usually didn’t cry, which made Clarke feel embarrassed to do so. She’d never asked him what he had to be upset about, because she knew there was probably a lot of things. And the closer she got to him, the harder it would be to leave him here.

That was the plan. Leave while he’s sleeping, don’t think about what you’re doing to him. Don’t think about how he was just a kid who made poor choices, had an attitude and a questionable sense of humor, how he wasn’t the smartest kid you had ever met but he did have good in his heart. He was just the boy who was trying to be helpful. The boy who didn’t want to be alone anymore. Don’t think about how Raven Reyes told you he confided in her that he didn’t want to die alone, and that’s precisely what you were about to do. You were about to leave him to die alone. Don’t think about how you made the loneliest boy in the world think he had a friend, _and now you’re going to leave him alone again._

Clarke knew she shouldn’t have gotten so close to him the minute he bumped his head on the cabinet trying to find her a glass, and she felt something bubble up and flutter inside of her as he frowned and punched the cabinet right back, it felt something like happiness.

She knew things changed fast on the ground, but how she could come to feel this way about the boy who had hurt so many of her people, in such a short amount of time, well, she just couldn’t comprehend. She guessed it had something to do with the picture of herself descending an angry mob of mildly bullied teens onto him, hanging ropes and seatbelt gags in hand, false accusations on tongues, that of which lingered in her mind on a screen like the bunker television. The picture of her standing helplessly before his swinging body, the picture of her packing his bags and sending him straight to a torture camp, the picture of her twisting a wet rag in all of the wounds inflicted on his pale skin, the picture of him curled up in a giant bed, features gentle at last. She guessed it had something to do with that.

She hadn’t seen many movies, but she’d seen this one all of the way through.  She’d hurt him too much to hate him any longer.

And Clarke had never been one to love slow and barely.

Wait, _what?_

Speaking of the devil himself, he interrupted her train of thought by flopping down next to her on his stomach to dangle his arms over the edge of the lookout, and eventually turning to give her a small smile.

Clarke returned the gesture, tucking her chin on one of the guard rails and staring out at the sun as it set over the expanse of water that separated real life and this ridiculous, incredibly weird fantasy. The sky was a palette of pinks and oranges and yellows, and cottony clouds moved with the breeze.

Earth had its perks.  
  
“It’s beautiful.” Clarke sighed, pressing her cheek against the metal. Murphy grunted in response, staring at the ground underneath the overlook as he dangled his torso precariously from the edge. She knew he’d never really cared for anything but the rain.

She shouldn’t know that. _Too close, too close, too close._

“Hey princess, got you a present.”

Clarke figured she could just rip out her heart now and save herself the trouble.

Murphy scooted backwards and sat up, placing a worn notebook and a dull graphite pencil in her lap.

“For your art.”

His eyes were practically glowing under the fiery sky, and she knew what she’d draw first.

Clarke grinned at him, and her own eyes stung.  Murphy’s face dropped. “Why are you crying? It’s just a pencil.”

“Nothing- it- it’s just- thank you, Murphy.” She nodded again, folding her legs underneath her and leaning in on her knees to wrap the lean boy in a tight embrace. He faltered for a minute, before lifting his arms and hugging her back so hard she swore she felt the air leave her lungs.

Yeah, she could stay a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? I beg of you. Kudos? Make my day. But please for the love of all that is holy tell me your thoughts in the comments below. I NEED it. More to come if you enjoyed, let me know. <3 Thanks for reading.


End file.
